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108 erotic stories said, all knew who she was and who joked about her deception. If I stayed at the Convent for a few days, she was the one who looked after me and slept with me. And, Isidro went on, José Cravo knew about it and consented to it all. It was this bit which hurt him most, and every time he repeated it he became so angry that he lost his breath and almost passed out. So he had forbidden her to return to the Convent, and even that morning had repeated that, if she were to dare to come while I was there, he would kill her. During the day, more than once he had taken down and cleaned the gun which Ponciano, the low-down bastard, had never demanded back… Although she looked everywhere for the cartridges, which he always kept in the wardrobe in his best jacket pocket, she couldn’t find them. All the same she had come to the Convent, just to ask me on bended knees to leave. I told her that it would be the greatest indignity if I were to run away, and that I would never do such a thing. Her face bathed in tears, she covered me with kisses and said goodbye, sobbing and saying as she went: ‘If I see him loading his gun I’ll come and tell you, even if I have to crawl here.’ I cannot remember ever having spent such hours of excruciating anguish as those which followed this scene. The nervous tension was so great that my whole body ached. What worried me most was the impossibility of making any firm decision. Should I run off with her? My brain completely ceased to function: my head was empty, and the same obsessive phrase kept going through my mind in letters of fire: anything, but I could not lose her. All this time the loud jollity of the festivities went on and on: the discordant music of the harmonicas; the squeals from the exhausted girls as they were dragged onto the dance-floor by the farmhands; the drunken chatter of the old wine-soaked men… Anything, but not to lose her!
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dead woman’s grove 109 Night had fallen when they all decided to end the feast, and they took down the doll from the pole to which they had attached it in the morning; it was brought to me in procession. I greeted them at the window of the dining-room, outside which there was a stone bench where they sat the doll. After thanking me repeatedly they left me alone, or rather in the company of the ‘doll’, on whose head someone had placed my hat. It looked as though it was resting after the day’s events, and its mask was turned towards the house, its eyes never leaving me. Its shoulders leaned against the window-sill, and the light of the indoor lamp shone towards its head. I used to spend hours on that bench, sitting in just that position, nodding off or perhaps reading, and when Emília brought me supper, she actually remarked that she had thought the ‘doll’ was me. She wanted to speak about Marta, but I told her she should get to bed: we would talk the following day. I sat at the table, but was unable to eat anything, and so opened a book, wanting to read to take my mind off things (to escape from myself), and did manage to; even now I can remember the pages I read, and can repeat whole sentences from them. At the same time, though, my mind was receptive to so many thoughts that reading could not quell my fears as to what might happen to Julia, and indeed what might happen to me should the madness which had assailed me continue. Not that I really believed in death threats or gunshots… Just at this point in my musings, I heard gunfire. ‘Who in God’s name would be shooting at this hour of the night?’ I thought, annoyed, but never thinking that it might have anything to do with Julia. I went on reading and pondering: Run off with her? And then what? Wasn’t José Cravo the type to come to some agreement if I were to give him money?… This last idea made me a little happier. He can’t be as bad as he’s made out to be… Another shot; this time very close to the Convent, and at the same time the doll’s head moved, and the pitcher of cool water on the sideboard rang out, while water spurted from its

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108 erotic stories said, all knew who she was and who joked about her deception. If I stayed at the Convent for a few days, she was the one who looked after me and slept with me. And, Isidro went on, José Cravo knew about it and consented to it all. It was this bit which hurt him most, and every time he repeated it he became so angry that he lost his breath and almost passed out. So he had forbidden her to return to the Convent, and even that morning had repeated that, if she were to dare to come while I was there, he would kill her. During the day, more than once he had taken down and cleaned the gun which Ponciano, the low-down bastard, had never demanded back… Although she looked everywhere for the cartridges, which he always kept in the wardrobe in his best jacket pocket, she couldn’t find them. All the same she had come to the Convent, just to ask me on bended knees to leave.

I told her that it would be the greatest indignity if I were to run away, and that I would never do such a thing. Her face bathed in tears, she covered me with kisses and said goodbye, sobbing and saying as she went:

‘If I see him loading his gun I’ll come and tell you, even if I have to crawl here.’

I cannot remember ever having spent such hours of excruciating anguish as those which followed this scene. The nervous tension was so great that my whole body ached. What worried me most was the impossibility of making any firm decision. Should I run off with her? My brain completely ceased to function: my head was empty, and the same obsessive phrase kept going through my mind in letters of fire: anything, but I could not lose her. All this time the loud jollity of the festivities went on and on: the discordant music of the harmonicas; the squeals from the exhausted girls as they were dragged onto the dance-floor by the farmhands; the drunken chatter of the old wine-soaked men…

Anything, but not to lose her!

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